


To Become

by TheLanternWretch



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Backstory, Gen, Gore, Riot - Freeform, Violence, prison warden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-13 23:42:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16902012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLanternWretch/pseuds/TheLanternWretch
Summary: Every legend begins somewhere, even if it means being murdered. The Chain Warden of the Isles had to become who he is somehow.





	To Become

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written before the huge Shadow Isles lore change. Before Thresh was a guard in a basement, Riot originally had him as a rather uncontrollable and abusive prison warden who met his fate at the hands of rioting prisoners. When i started writing/roleplaying Thresh, this was the backstory I wrote to explore the character further. Due to the lore being changed, this drabble is pretty outdated and moot, now, but I still find it worthy of being put up somewhere.

_"How long has it been since I've seen sunlight?"_

_"How long have I been here...?"_

  
Questions flooded the mind of the nameless prisoner in his jail cell. He couldn't remember his name. He couldn't remember when he was forced into the prison. It seemed like an eternity ago, the pain and torture disassembling his memories. All he knew was that he was innocent. He did nothing wrong, and yet here he was. What did he do to deserve this fate? To starve and suffer next to these other innocent and guilty souls? He ran his hands nervously over his bare arms, his fingers feeling the heavy scars that littered the surface of his skin. He had hoped he would be able to leave in his first few years, but that light had long since gone out. He knew now he was never leaving this prison alive.

  
The nameless man raised his head, as did everyone around him. Faint at first and then louder, the ominous sounds returned. Everyone down here knew them all too well; the clanging, the scraping, the dragging. The chains. The Warden was coming. Panicked, everyone pushed into the corner of their cells, trying desperately to stay out of his sight. Determined to not risk being flogged again for the sole amusement of the jailer, the man forced himself under the rickety iron bed, cutting open his back in the process of concealing himself. As soon as he heard the door to the cell block creak open, he hid his face out of instinct and fear.

  
The Warden entered, the flickering light of the lantern he was holding illuminated the path ahead of him, casting long shadows in the cells as he passed them. He was a large man, and boasted both brawn and height. As he slowly walked down the aisle, he peered ominously into each cell. His thick hair slid off his shoulders, concealing all but the center sliver of his face. The man's gaze was inexorably drawn down each of the three thick braids the Warden had tied his mane back into.  There were cruel, heavy iron hooks weaved into the end of each plait. If they were supposed to function as an intimidation tactic, it worked. What sane man would ever use razor hooks to keep his own hair out of his face? And what kind of human being would use chains the way he did? The Warden had many ways to torture, but he favored those heavy chains. And he never used them the same way twice. But the most unsettling part was that he almost seemed one with the heavy links. He moved as if the coils and coils he had at his disposal were only a mere extension of his body. The sinister clanking continued as the Warden proceeded to scout out a new toy to break.

  
If there was one thing about the Warden that the prisoner would not forget, it was his eyes. They were a bright, cold emerald and almost seemed to glow in the reflection of the dim lantern. His piercing gaze was enough to make anyone fall silent. Waiting... Hoping... Praying they wouldn't be his next target. Those same eyes looked toward the cell where the nameless prisoner was hiding. There was only one word to describe those eyes- Inhuman. The prisoner scrunched back further under the bed, ignoring or not feeling the pain in his back, as the jailer made his way over to the barred door.

  
The Warden bent down, raising his lantern up to see into the cell properly. He observed the frightened man hiding and bleeding under the bed before his face split into a cruel grin. "Close, but you need more time to ripen. You will be perfect soon enough." With a satisfied chuckle, the warden stood once more and continued to peruse his captive prey.

  
The inmate under the bed shivered. He was next, he knew it. Not tonight, maybe not even tomorrow, but his time was coming soon. He only retreated further under the bed, closing his eyes and grimacing as he heard one of the other prisoners start screaming. He heard the sound of a lock being opened, and subsequently the shrieking got worse. He didn't have to look up to know what happened. The Warden had found his newest prey. Determined not to look up, the prisoner covered his ears and squeezed his eyes shut as he heard the chains and heavy footsteps. The prisoner tried not to listen to the tell tale sounds of a struggling body being dragged in front of his door. The moment the heavy wooden door at the end of ward slammed shut, the victim's screaming seemed miles away. The rest knew he would continue to yell and plead until he was brought back to his cell or, the more likely outcome, until he perished.

  
The nameless man finally pulled himself out from his hiding spot and stood, shaking, as the fresh cuts on his back tried to cease the newest swell of blood flowing from their wounds. He had almost just crawled onto the bed when a quiet voice near by caught his attention. "Hey, what's that on the floor?" Curious, the prisoner walked to his cell door and looked out. Glinting like a beacon in the moonlight on the stone floor was a single key.

  
"It's ... it's one of the warden's keys, I think?" It didn't click for the man until a few seconds later. "I-I think it is! Look, there's the Shadow Isles crest right there on the head of the key!" Other inmates rushed over to their prison doors, straining to see for themselves.

  
"Maybe it slipped off his key ring?" One suggested, sounding hopeful.

  
"Probably rusted off the ring itself." Another muttered, almost in disbelief.

  
"Hey, you, can you reach it?" Someone else near by asked, hoarsely.

  
"C'mon, it's right there!" The calls from other inmates grew urgent as word quickly spread.

  
"You can't let him get it back now! We can get out!"

  
The man already sunk to his knees, his arm through the bars of the door to try and grab the key. He kept brushing the edge of it with his finger tips. The other prisoners started to quietly cheer him on, encouraging him to do whatever it takes to get that key. Just as determined to earn his freedom, he painfully wedged his shoulder through the bars and twisted his arm until he could brush the key further towards himself. Finally, he grabbed the key and untangled himself from the iron bars and stood.

  
Louder than intended, the inmates cheered and leapt about. The prisoner finally smiled - the first time in a long time. This was it. He was getting out. He twisted his hands through the bars one more time, his nervous, shaking hands trying to hold the lock still as he slipped the key into the hole. A little turn and a click and the lock fell onto the floor. Almost as if daring to believe it, the man pushed the door open.

  
The cheers grew louder as the hero of the hour stumbled quickly to each cell, opening each metal door. The inmates flooded into the aisle, bumping into each other and trying to figure out what to do with themselves, as a tense but excited hum buzzed throughout all of them. The sound of a door slamming open quieted the crowd. As if they were a unit, they turned to look at the end of the hall at the stray sound of a door.

  
The warden was back, wiping a stray streak of crimson off his face and only staining his clothes further with fresh convict blood. He didn't have to ask what happened - a mass jailbreak was the only thing he ever worried about and now it was happening.   
At the sight of him, the prisoners cowered for only a second before the fear washed away. There were many of them and only one of him. He was no longer the scary threat that they saw for all those years. He was only human, just like them. Human, outnumbered, and vulnerable. The rage of the wrongfully convicted grew; the desire for payback from the guilty skyrocketed. Screaming and running, the blood lust of the inmates was nearly suffocating as they charged toward their torturer, finally able to take their vengeance.

  
The warden made no attempt to run. He knew he would not be getting away from this alive. Keeping every shred of dignity he had, he merely opened his arms, allowing the prisoners to overtake him. Like a tidal wave they crashed into the Warden, toppling him onto the floor, their nails cutting his skin as they grabbed at him. A few hands went straight for his luminous green eyes, puncturing them and pulling them from their sockets. Other hands grabbed at his face and jaw. A crack signaled that the pressure put on his skull was too much as his jaw hung open, broken. The inmates continued their animalistic ravaging of their warden, the captives finally becoming the captors.

  
One of the men had grabbed the coil of chains that the jailer had dropped and picked them up with a grunt. "Look!" He yelled over the disorganized crowd of his cellmates. "It seems our warden has brought us a gift! Let's let him have a taste of his own chains!" The suggestion drove the crowd wild as multiple pairs of hands offered to help. They slid rung after rung around the jailer's neck and pulled, choking the surprisingly quiet sadist.  
"How do you like that? Not a lot to say now, huh?" They pulled the blinded man onto his feet by the chains around his neck, others still pounding their weak hands onto him and kicking his legs as hard as they could. "He can no longer speak!" Someone announced joyfully. "He can't see! What else can we do to him?" Another asked with grim satisfaction.

  
Suggestions poured out but one was louder than all the others. "Hang him! Let him spend the last moments of his life displayed for all of us to see!" It was almost practiced, the way they threw the tops of the chains over one of the beams running along the ceiling. The chain strained around the warden's neck as the inmates all took a hold of the chain and with a great heave, tugged until it was taut. The warden was pulled into the air, unable to breathe. He struggled for a moment, his legs temporarily kicking. "No! Keep him still! Don't give him any relief until he stops breathing!"

  
A few men grabbed a hold of his legs and pulled, keeping the Warden hanging tight and still. Their anger knew no bounds and after a few seconds of tugging, they heard a snap. The Warden's neck broke, his head rolling forward. The bloodied and ruined eye sockets stared down at the smiling and joyful inmates. They heard his last rattling breath before he went quiet.

  
The celebratory screams that followed were deafening. After securing the chains on a nearby cell door, they all took their turns mocking the corpse hanging from the ceiling, laughing at each other, and already recalling such things such as the silent scream of pain that escaped the jailer as his eyes were torn from his skull.

  
The invigorated party only lasted for so long before new panic set into the inmates. The warden was dead, yes, but now what? Surely the King would make sure someone else came to fill his place?

  
_Maybe the next one will be worse._

  
The collective thought ushered a silence throughout the hallway. "We need to get out of here now!" Someone's strained voice called. "We need to escape while no one knows what happened! Go, go, the door is open!" The crowd of people turned as one and immediately stampeded out. After a few wrong turns, they found themselves making their way through the dark prison and to the front door. "The warden's office is right here! That means this must be the way out!" A prisoner up front informed the rest behind him.

  
The man who had snatched the key and started the riot took over the front of the pack. "I remember the door to the outside! It's here, it's this way!" As he neared the door, his side suddenly exploded with pain. He looked down bewildered to see what looked like a sickle embedded into his side. It was attached to a chain, his eyes followed it as it extended into the darkness. He only stood there for another moment before being pulled with unnatural force into the darkness. The rest heard a scream.  
"Who's there?!" Some demanded, their temper rising. Others shrank back in fear. That's when they heard them. The chains. Their familiar clanging. The shrill scraping. The heavy footsteps on stone.

  
The creature that rounded the corner made several of them scream. Where there should have been a face was nothing but an eyeless skull and only half of it's jaw. Green ethereal fire engulfed most of the neck, caressing three long hooked tendrils that floated ominously behind the specter. The apparition moved toward them, it's sharply armored hand clutched onto the roots of his victim's hair. An extinguished lantern seemed to bob alongside the two of them and, strangely enough, was also chained to the horrifying phantom.

  
Whatever it was, it held the man up by his hair, gently placing the blade of the scythe against his neck. Without a word, it slit the man's neck, sending blood splattering in all directions and onto the closest escapees. The man struggled as he felt his life leave his body, going limp in the strong grasp of the ghost. The wraith merely dropped the dead body when he was dead, though not before coaxing a small green wisp of light out of the corpse. The streak of energy was mysteriously attracted to the lantern and as soon as they made contact, it blared to life, washing even more green light over terrified faces.

  
The phantom made it's way over to the prisoners, his fingers curling around the handle of his scythe. The prisoners began running in all directions, screaming and looking for another way to get out. The ghost almost seemed to smile, watching the pandemonium break out in front of him. He knew there was only one way in and out of this place... he was their warden after all. He wasn't usually about just going in for the kill, but he felt he deserved to repay them for what they had done to him. As the newly risen specter began to give chase, he made them only one promise;

  
_**"No one escapes."**_


End file.
